


Callused Comfort

by Morgana



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-27
Updated: 2011-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dawn does her best not to lose her mind when they bury her sister</p>
            </blockquote>





	Callused Comfort

"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die." Giles' voice drifted out from the cluster of people that stood at the side of the furtively dug grave, even tones carried on the wind to whatever creatures might be watching in the darkness beyond their circle. "I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: and though this body be destroyed, yet shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not as a stranger. We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

Dawn stood at the foot of the grave and stared down at the plain pine box as she listened to Giles read, the beauty and poetry of the ancient burial rite lost on her. She knew the words were intended to comfort her, but they didn't do anything except remind her that her sister was dead. Buffy was gone, and pretty words weren't going to make her feel less alone or afraid. The only possible help for that was the vampire who hadn't left her side since he'd healed enough to stand.

As though he could sense her thoughts, Spike's hand tightened around hers briefly. Dawn flexed her fingers, pushing against his grip just enough to feel the calluses at the base of his fingers rub over her skin. It was a familiar sensation, way more comforting than any words could ever be, a link to Buffy that only Spike could give her. They were warrior's calluses, formed in the fight and hardened over night after night of patrol, and they'd been how she first figured out that her sister was more than she appeared. Dawn couldn't count the number of times her hair had snagged on one of the patches of roughened skin, could barely remember a time that she hadn't looked to the brush of calluses on her cheek to make her feel safe.

It was his calluses that had told her Spike could be trusted, that he was, despite all of his earlier protests, one of the good guys. Dawn knew she hadn't really been around for it, but she could remember sitting on the floor of Giles' bathroom tracing the calluses on Spike's hand, drawing lines from each one down to the manacle around his wrist and back up, over and over while debates filtered in from the living room. He'd never told her no, never said she was bothering him, just sat and watched her toy with his hand, fitting her fingers through his and sliding them out again. She hadn't told anyone about it, had wanted to keep that something secret between the two of them, but when they'd gathered around Buffy's grave, she hadn't thought twice about sliding her hand into Spike's, seeking the familiar comfort and grounding contact that only he could give her. And from the way he was holding onto her as tightly as she was to him, she thought he needed it every bit as much as she did.

"In sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commit the body of this child to the ground. The Lord bless her and keep her -" And it was there that Giles broke, his voice faltering

"The Lord make His face to shine upon her and be gracious unto her, the Lord lift up His countenance upon her, and give her peace, both now and evermore," Spike finished raggedly, never taking his eyes away from the wooden box in front of him. Dawn wondered how he knew the words, if he'd asked Giles to say that or if it was some kind of British thing, something they all said at funerals in England.

Nobody said anything for a long time, the night stretching out around them, silent and still, and then Giles cleared his throat. "Amen," he said, closing the book in his hand with a soft thump.

"Amen," Xander echoed quietly. He drew in a shuddering breath and glanced at the shovel and mound of dirt that lay on the far side of the grave. Dawn knew what that meant; he was going to bury her sister now. "Dawn, maybe -"

"Yeah, okay." She wasn't about to argue or try to stay there for this, not when the dull thud of earth on her mother's coffin still rang in her dreams sometimes. If she had to listen to it hitting Buffy's as well, she thought she might start screaming and never stop. Laying her free hand on Spike's arm, she said softly, "Let's go."

He didn't budge, didn't even look down at her and Dawn squeezed his arm. "Spike, c'mon. We need to leave so - so Xander can bury her." Still no response, and she was starting to get scared now. Tightening her grip on both hand and arm, she yanked as hard as she could. "Spike!"

Finally he turned to look at her, and if she'd thought Buffy's death had split her world in two, she saw that Spike's had been shattered. He had a sort of lost look to him, as though everything he'd ever believed in had been ground into dust, and Dawn realized that it was her job now to take care of him just as much as it was his to watch after her. "C'mon, let's go home." She tried to make her voice sound like Tara's at its most soothing, but her own grief and fear shone through and she was left pleading with him. "I can't stay here anymore, Spike. Can we just go now?"

Something about her desperate need to not be there when Xander started filling the grave must have reached him, because Spike nodded, a jerky motion that didn't fit with his usual careless grace. "Yeah, sure thing, pet." He glanced back at the coffin and for a second, Dawn thought he might try to jump in there with her, but he swallowed hard and let her lead him away, moving with the slow deliberation of a sleepwalker, as though he was still waiting to wake up, hoping to find out that it had all been a bad dream.

They stumbled home in a sort of daze, leaning on each other like they might fall over if they didn't. Dawn tried not to think about how they'd left Buffy back in the cemetery, focused on the little things like fixing herself a cup of hot chocolate and getting blood for Spike, both of them sitting at the table in sorrow-laden silence until, one by one, the others came in to join them. Tara made more hot chocolate and passed mugs around, and Xander smiled down into his cup.

"Remember how Joyce always used to give us hot chocolate after a bad day at school?" he asked, looking over at Willow, who nodded and leaned against Tara, seeking the solace of her girlfriend's embrace.

The question seemed to be what was needed to break the silence; the Scoobies began to talk, sharing stories about Joyce and Buffy, a quiet remembrance of life around the kitchen table that had always been the heart of the Summers home. Dawn listened, but didn't join in, just slid her hand into Spike's again. She rubbed her thumb over the calluses on his hand and silently thanked both Mom and Buffy for inviting him in and making him stay. They hadn't meant to, but they'd made sure she had someone looking out for her - and someone for her to look out for, as well.


End file.
